False Horizons

by CJ Birch

  “Where have I heard that before?” Sarka pushes his tablet on his desk and leans back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest.

  “For thousands of years the illya have poached this system, taking what isn’t theirs. The Varbaja have dedicated themselves and their resources to purge this system of the illya for good.”

  The screen fades to white and a diorama appears. Over the next forty minutes the history of this war unfolds. It’s not pretty. And it isn’t going to end well. Our lives will be sacrificed for a war that will likely go on for another couple of centuries.

  The illya invade colonies and attack ships, taking prisoners. No one knows where their home world is, or if they even have one. Nor do they know how many are left. But they are deadly, and they won’t stop coming until they’re wiped out.

  As much as that sounds awful, I can’t say I’m moved to help fight the illya for the Varbaja. I need to get back to my ship and help my own people.

  By the end of the ordeal I feel like I’ve just been purchased by a new farm on Delta. The system is set up to process many bodies at once. My mind swims with images of the Persephone’s crew filtering through here, terrified, angry, confused. How many ships have they conscripted to this army? Thousands? Millions? Billions?

  This question is somewhat answered when we’re brought to the mess. The room is gigantic and must feed over a thousand people at once. This isn’t the only one on the ship either. Several more are scattered throughout each section.

  The familiar face of Tup greets us as we exit the indoctrination room. He waves us to follow and we set off down white, sterile halls. This area is so clean it’s like being on a different ship. Our reflections follow us down the corridor, matching our stride. I don’t recognize myself. I feel like I’m playing soldier. Sarka, of course, is at home in the menacing uniform. I don’t think it’s my imagination that he’s walking with his chest puffed out slightly, and every so often he checks himself out in the wall reflection. Yeah, they probably wet themselves over people like Sarka. He’s ten times the soldier I’ll ever be.

  Despite what some people think, Union fleet is not a space version of the army. We aren’t military. We’re more like officers of a corporation. Our first mission is to protect the Belt’s assets. Only if it’s absolutely necessary will we take up arms. I was trained for combat at the Delta Academy, but fighting never came naturally to me.

  Not like Sarka, who’s been a soldier since he was a teenager. When he holds a weapon it’s more than natural. It’s expected.

  Tup takes us in through a door that leads us to a meandering line of soldiers queuing for food. He takes a tray and begins pointing out stuff we should try and what to avoid.

  He places a plate of what looks like moldy rocks on my tray. “These are cornu. A specialty from my planet. We grow them here in huge tubs of seawater, but they’re originally from home.”

  “What are they?”

  “They’re very good.”

  I decide to let that one go.

  He puts what looks like black spaghetti on Sarka’s plate and some brown peas on mine. He loads himself up with leafy greens and dishes with different-colored sauces. As we reach the end of the line, everyone receives plates with a heap of brown meat.

  We find a free spot near the back just as a siren goes off.

  “What’s that?”

  “New recruits.” Tup slathers his meat in an orange sauce and shoves it into his mouth.

  Chapter Five

  Ash

  Yakovich and Hartley join me on the track. The green beams have brought us to a halt in the center of a large bay that looks very much like a dry dock. Figures crisscross the walkways above us, but they’re too far away to see any details.

  “We are so fucked,” Yakovich says.

  “Calm down.” If they were going to kill us, they wouldn’t be pulling us in. They would’ve just shot at us. Although, if they want the ship intact, then they may secure it safely first. I turn to Yakovich. “Get your team together. Arm everyone you can. But tell them to shoot only if they’re attacked. We don’t know for sure if these people are hostile. Hartley, get your guys together. Do you have any more of those Jackies?”

  “Tons.”

  “Good. Get a bunch and secure your team in the cargo hold. I’ll come find you. If anything bad happens to Yakovich’s team, we’ll be the resistance.”

  Nobody moves. They’re both staring at the giant ship that’s swallowed us, mesmerized.

  “Go,” I shout.

  The medical center is several decks up. When I arrive, Dr. Prashad has his face in a tablet. He projects an air of calm competence, as usual, so he must not know what’s happened. But that’s not a given. I’ve seen him keep his cool in pretty stressful situations.

  “Doctor, I need you to load some syringes that will knock people out.”

  His bushy brows come together, causing the lines of his forehead to deepen. “What’s happening?”

  “We’re about to be boarded, and if our first line of defense fails, I want to be ready with an alternative. You should be happy we’re not planning to kill, only sedate.”

  “Who’s trying to board us?” He looks around as if any second they’ll storm through the med-center doors.

  “I’m not sure. But I want you to come with me to the cargo hold. Hartley and his team are there. That’s where I’m directing the rest of the crew.”

  “Have you thought about surrendering peacefully? It could mean a lot less casualties. What if they’re only here to offer assistance?” He leans back on the counter and folds his arms.

  That question sounds even more crazy when he says it. It’s a nice thing to hope for, but I just can’t see that being the case. What if they’re here to pillage the ship? Maybe they’re this solar system’s version of the Burrs. We’re adrift in space with little more than bottle rockets as weapons. How effective can we be?

  Dr. Prashad places a calming hand on my wrist. “We’ll make it through this. If they were here to kill us, we wouldn’t know it. We’d be dead already.” He leads me to the console and begins mixing a syringe. He places a tube into an oblong computer and presses a few buttons. The tube fills with liquid. When the computer chimes, he hands me the syringe. “I want you to take this with you.”

  “What is it?”

  “Backup if you lose your medication. I don’t want you to miss taking it, even during this turmoil.”

  The syringe is filled with a white, creamy liquid that coats the sides as I turn it. “And do I just take it when I miss a dose?”

  “If you miss more than three days, take it.”

  “What happens if I don’t?” I hate putting stuff in my body, especially when I’m not a hundred percent sure what it is.

  “It would be very harmful to stop the treatment once started. There are side effects. Not many, but if you have any issues, you come see me.” He puts a hand on my arm, grabbing my attention. His brown eyes are full of concern. “Ash, this is important.”

  I believe him. Dr. Prashad has always been kind and honest. He’s helped me more than most would be willing to do. And he puts up with only so much of my shit. Sometimes I think of him as the father of the ship. He’s older than everyone by at least twenty years. Even on the Posterus few are older than thirty-five. When we started this mission we believed we’d be traveling to our new home hundreds of light-years away. We wanted viable procreators so we could expand the population and keep the ship staffed.

  Dr. Prashad has aged well. For over fifty, he doesn’t look it. That’s the benefit of not living under a sun. Nothing dries out your skin and causes premature wrinkles.

  “You said there weren’t many side effects, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t any.”

  “No, you’re right. You might suffer nausea, headaches, fatigue. Nothing too outrageous.” He hands me five syringes, which I shove into my pocket, making sure to keep my medication separate.

  I lead him out of the medical center toward the
cargo hold. The ship is scary quiet without the engines. The corridors are empty. We don’t encounter any crew or hostile aliens. Maybe they haven’t boarded us yet.

  Our footsteps clank along the corridor as we move through the silent ship. Any minute I expect to hear a loud bang or explosion as the intruders find a way to enter the ship. So when I do encounter one of them for the first time, it’s so quiet and unexpected, I almost trip over my own feet.

  We round the final corner before the chute to the cargo hold, and I bump into a small, thin man. He’s using a small computer as a shield, holding it in front of his chest. My momentum knocks him to the ground, and his computer scatters down the hall, ricocheting off the walls and coming to a teetering standstill on the edge of the chute opening. We all watch, mesmerized, as it tilts and plummets, echoing off the chute’s ladder and walls with cringeworthy loudness. The sound of it shattering at the bottom is all the catalyst the little man needs. He jumps to his feet and runs to the chute, where he peers over the edge. He jabbers something at us and points down the chute, angry about his broken computer. He’s not hostile about it, more concerned. No one else is with him, so if he does become hostile, I’m sure I can take him. If he wasn’t so short, I’d think he was an avian, although he’s without wings, from what I can see. There’s not much room under his brown and green uniform to hide wings, even folded. But his face comes to a sharp point like the avians, and his skin is the same pasty gray.

  It’s possible they’re related. Hartley said the avians probably get their height from the low gravity of the planet, which makes their bones grow longer. So if these creatures don’t live on the planet anymore, it’s possible their height was reduced. I’m sure Hartley could explain it better.

  The man is on his hands and knees now, pointing down the chute. Does he want one of us to go get the computer? It’s probably smashed to bits by now.

  I nudge the doctor. “Do you mind getting it? I’ll keep an eye on this guy.”

  “You’ll be okay?”

  I nod, and he looks relieved to be the one to go. The man calms as soon as Dr. Prashad begins his descent. And now we’re left in that awkward position of what to do while we wait. The little beak man stands next to the chute staring at me. His dark eyes are reminiscent of the avians, and the resemblance gives me chills. They have a way of boring through me as if I’m less important than my surroundings.

  After a few minutes the doctor emerges from the chute and places several pieces of electronics on the ground in front of the man. I wouldn’t say he scurries back to me, because I can’t ever imagine Dr. Prashad scurrying, but it’s close enough.

  The alien squats and busies himself fitting the pieces back together. The edge of his bottom lip curls up around the beak protrusion, and I realize this must be his smile, because when he stands he points the computer at us, and suddenly his jabber makes sense.

  “I am Vonn. Why are you orbiting our planet?”

  I’m speechless for a second. The device somehow manages to translate languages. My mouth opens, and all I can think to say is, “Your planet?”

  “We protect the nishga.”

  “The nishga?” I mime wings and he nods. “Why do they need protection?”

  “If people discover the planet, they will come for resources and threaten the nishga’s habitat. They are primitive but special.” He steps forward, pointing the translator closer, as if it’s something threatening. “Why are you here?”

  I don’t think sharing our predicament is a good idea. Telling strangers we’re crippled isn’t the best way to stay alive. “We’re making repairs to our ship, and as soon as we’ve done that we’ll be leaving to join our main ship.” I hope by main ship he knows we’re not alone, and from that he assumes they know where we are and are much deadlier than we appear.

  “Your ship is very broken. And from our scans it doesn’t look like you have the necessary equipment to repair it. You are adrift,” Vonn says.

  No such luck. “We have a plan in place and will be able to get the ship going again.”

  “Not before you run out of emergency reserves. We can help. We have resources that you don’t.”

  My heart soars, but only for a millisecond. Something my father always used to say runs through my head—there’s no such thing as pure altruism. My dad is a very cynical man, but that doesn’t mean he’s wrong. I’m not sure what these people want in payment, but we don’t have it. We have nothing to spare.

  “That’s very kind. But we don’t have anything to offer in return.”

  “We don’t want anything. We want you to leave the planet.” His face scrunches into a tight ball. Is that a frown? I feel like I’ve demanded he share his lunch after he’d already offered to give me half. Obviously diplomacy is not a strong point for these people.

  “We have no intention of staying. We need to join our ship as soon as we’re ready.”

  “We’ll take you to your ship. You have no need to wait.”

  A loud bang sounds, and the ship shudders. Vonn’s eyes widen, and he peers down the chute, the source of the loud bang.

  “What the hell was that? Are your people attacking?” I ask.

  He’s frozen. Then the hand holding the translator shakes. He doesn’t look like the head of an invasion army. But I could be wrong. It’s happened a few times before. He looks back at the doctor and me and shakes his head. “That wasn’t us. We don’t use force. It’s not our way.”

  I run to the chute and prepare to descend. “Doctor, will you keep an eye on our guest, please? Make sure he doesn’t wander. I have a few more questions.” More like a million. I grip the sides of the ladder and use the sides of my boots to put pressure on the edge and slide down fast. A few feet from the bottom I let go and land with a teeth-jarring thud. I don’t see anyone in this corridor, but the cargo hold isn’t far from here. I wish I’d thought to grab a weapon from the armory before finding the doctor. Now I’m unarmed and running toward trouble. What else is new?

  I like to think of this as bravery. Jordan would say it’s rash, a nicer word than my dad would’ve used. I do have a habit of acting on impulse, though it always works out in the end. And if it’s not me, then who? What if Vonn is lying and they are invading the ship? What if Yakovich mistook a welcome for something less friendly? Or one of Hartley’s Jackies discharged?

  I round the corner and stop dead. Yakovich’s whole team is lying prone on the floor in front of me, their weapons dropped where they fell. I kneel at the first body, Wyatt Fossick, my least-favorite person on this ship. He’s got a grudge because I elbowed him in the jaw once. I was so sure he was the one behind the attacks on me. But he wasn’t. Instead it was someone I thought was my friend. I have no idea why Vasa attacked me. He still won’t talk.

  I poke Fossick in the ribs, but he doesn’t move. I check his pulse. He’s still alive, only unconscious. I pick my way through the bodies and find a standoff in the cargo hold. Hartley is brandishing a large spanner, while several of the beak people stand at the back of the hold.

  “What’s going on?” I demand in my take-no-shit voice.

  One of the beak people steps away from his group and bows before me. “I am Bragga, leader of the illya.”

  “The illya?” I look at Hartley, who shrugs. He’s still got the spanner cocked as if he’s going to bash the guy’s head in. I motion for him to lower it. He does, but keeps a firm grip. “What are you doing here?” I ask.

  Bragga spreads his arms. Like the man we encountered earlier, he’s wearing a brown and green uniform, only his has a deep-green stripe down the center. A rank? Department? “We noticed your ship is without power. We wanted to assist you.”

  I jab a thumb behind me. “And the unconscious people outside? Was that your hello?”

  He heaves a sigh. “That was a misunderstanding. They’re not damaged. They had weapons pointed at us when we entered.”

  “What did you do to them?”

  “We projected sound waves that encouraged
them to sleep. They will wake up in a few minutes refreshed.”

  Hartley snorts.

  “Is this possible?” I ask him.

  “Maybe.” He shrugs. “Deep sleep produces delta waves, and it’s been theorized, although never actually proven, that if you project delta waves at someone it could induce sleep. I don’t believe it’s possible. But theoretically someone could use other sound frequencies we haven’t discovered.” He says the whole thing without taking a breath. I’ve never met a faster talker than Hartley. It drives Jordan mad.

  “Jesus, Hartley. A yes or no next time.” He takes a deep breath, preparing for another onslaught of words, but I hold up my hand. “Go get the doctor. I want him to check on the crew outside. He’s a few decks up. And have him bring that other illya with him. I don’t want any of them wandering the ship unattended.”

  Hartley closes his mouth and nods, leaving his geeklings.

  I turn back to Bragga. “As I explained to your colleague up a few decks, we don’t have anything to pay you with. What few resources we have are needed.”

  “We don’t ask for anything in return. Meeting new people and learning their stories is payment enough for us.”

  “You want our stories?” There’s an old Earth saying: if it sounds too good to be true, it usually is. These guys sound too good to be true. They come at the exact moment we need them, and they want to help us without any payment in return. What’s the catch? “Are you sure you can fix our ship? We require a quantum computer to run most of our systems.” And that’s only one of many issues.

  “This is no problem. We scanned your ship before guiding you into our ship bay. In fact, we will be able to help restock some of your depleted resources.”

  I almost groan. This is becoming way too good. For the millionth time I wish Jordan was here. She’d know exactly how to handle this situation. I don’t want to reject it outright because we really need the help. Hell, we were minutes away from abandoning ship. But taking their help feels like making a deal with the devil.